


Broken

by orphan_account



Category: Game Grumps
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Domestic Violence, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, oops i did it again, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-20
Updated: 2014-08-20
Packaged: 2018-02-14 00:41:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2171424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How did things get this way? Everything seemed so perfect just a few months ago. He seemed so perfect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Broken

**Author's Note:**

> Blame this on the people who said they liked my other angst fic.

He’s been hitting you again. Dark marks hidden under a thick layer of makeup ache, throb as you stare at your reflection in the mirror. How did things get this way? Everything seemed so perfect just a few months ago. He seemed so perfect.   
  
Honestly, it’s not all bad. Most of the time, he’s loving, nice, compassionate. Maybe he’s right, maybe it is your fault when he gets angry. But you just don’t know what it is that triggers him, what makes him so mad. With one last sad glance in the mirror, you leave the comfort of the silent bathroom. He’s not home right now. You know he’s not at work, so he’s probably at the bar, watching the game. Drinking. And you have a feeling you know what’s going to happen when he comes home. On shaky legs, you enter your bedroom and sink into the bed the two of you share, willing yourself to fall asleep. Maybe it’ll be okay if you sleep when he gets home.   
  
It’s three A.M when you finally hear the slam of the door. He calls your name, but you stay silent, your eyes squeezed shut. You can hear him rummaging through the living room, making his way to the bedroom. He’s mumbling to himself, cursing under his breath. He’s angry. You can hear it in the low murmurs as he open the door, walk over to you. There’s a moment of silence. Maybe he won’t start. Maybe he’ll lean down and plant a kiss on your cheek before laying down beside you, pulling you into a tight embrace and fall asleep.   
  
But you know that’s not the case even before he grab a fistful of your hair, pulls you up to him. He doesn’t say a word, doesn’t need to. You see it in his glazed eyes. Your scalp hurts as he tugs you up, forces you out of the bed. You beg. But every ‘please’, ‘honey’, ‘sweetie’ and ‘I’m sorry’ fall on deaf ears. He throws you to the floor. You notice he’s still wearing shoes, brace yourself as his foot connects with your stomach, knocking the air out of your body. You scream, regretting the second the sound escape your lips. You know how he feels about you screaming. He grabs you again, forces you on your feet. Your cheeks are wet, you hadn’t even noticed the tears forming in your eyes, everything is a blur.   
  
The mirror breaks into a million of pieces when he pushes you into it, leaving tiny cuts and bruises all over your back. You wince in pain, bite back the scream in your throat. His hands are fists, shaking, threatening fists that open and close as he hovers over you, stares into your eyes. Time stops, there’s no sounds but your tiny sobs and his loud breaths. Maybe the worst is over. Your heart is pounding, your legs shaking and your hair is in knots.   
“Baby, please,” you whisper, looking at him through the blur and tears. His face is hard, stoic.   
  
Everything goes black when he punches you hard, like a stone hitting your face at light speed. You fall to the floor, feeling the metallic taste of blood in your mouth. You’re dizzy, head feels like it’s floating in and out of consciousness. You swallow, careful not to let any blood drip out of your mouth. You’ve given up, curled into a ball on the floor, laying in pieces of broken glass. Prepared for the next hit, head securely hidden in your arms, you sob silently, praying for it to end. Just please make it stop.   
  
It ends as sudden as it started. He leaves the room. You feel as if your heart has been stomped on, and it might as well. Everything hurts, even the heartbreaking cries of agony that escapes your raspy throat. For a moment you just lay on the floor, in fear that he might return and punish you if you move. But then you hear the most beautiful sound you’ve hear all night - the sound of the door slamming in the hall. He’s gone. He’s left the house.   
  
You do the only thing that feels safe, you call your best friend, praying to God he’s still awake. When he finally answers the phone, you break, sob hysterically as you try your best to explain what’s happened. But no explanation is needed, Dan has been here before, he’s picked up the pieces and glued you back together as best he could more than once. He tells you to lock the door, both the normal lock and the one that can only be opened from the inside. He promises not to hang up as he quickly get dressed and almost run to his car. He’ll be right over, he says, tells you try and relax. The entire ride over, he keeps saying your name in the soft voice only he has, promises everything will be fine. That this will be the last time.   
  
You see the pain in his eyes as he enter the house. For a moment he only stares at you, as if he’s scared he’ll break you if he touches you. You’ve stopped crying, but there are still involuntary sobs breaking out from you mouth now and then. Your face still stings. He steps closer, reaches for your hand, squeezes it. You can see the disgust he’s trying to hide away from you - for you, or for the man he wishes he could be. It’s no secret that Dan is in love with you, you’ve discussed it on more than one occasion. It’s no secret he resents the choice you made when you picked the man who’s now responsible for your fractured bones and broken heart. But he still shows up, every time, to hold you close when the storm is over.   
  
“This would never happened if you just picked me,” it’s barely a whisper. A silent, broken, tired accusation that wasn’t meant to be said. A bittersweet promise of something that could’ve been. And if your heart wasn’t already in twenty thousand pieces all over the soft rug on the floor, Dan’s pained expression and the hand holding you so hard it almost hurt would’ve broken you in two. You love him so, so much, but it’s not the kind of love he wants. He’s your very best friend and he means the world to you, but not in the way he wishes.   
“I know,” is the only way you know how to respond, giving his hand a squeeze, avoiding the broken look in his eyes.   
  
He brings you home with him. No time to get your clothes or any of your stuff, the two of you just get in the car, and you say goodbye to the life you’ve been living for months. There’s no happiness or relief in your heart as the car pulls out of the driveway, only an empty, hollow feeling in your chest. It’s over, you think to yourself, not really realizing it. It’s over, and it’ll be better in the morning. Dan doesn’t say anything, keeps his eyes on the road. You know he’s angry, and you know he hates himself for being so. And for a moment you want to tell him to stop the car, to leave you on the side of the road. You know you’re hurting him, even if he’ll never admit it. Even if he prefers it over not seeing you.   
  
He lets you take a shower, lets you borrow his favorite shirt. He lets you sleep in his bed and he wraps an arm around you. He drags a soft hand over your cheek, massages your sore scalp. His forehead is leaned against yours, you can feel his breath on your nose. It’s the smell of cherries and skittles. Tears well up in your eyes, the hollow hole in your chest grows bigger and bigger. His eyes are closed, his breath is even, but you can heat the beating of his heart behind his exposed chest.   
“I wish you loved me,” his voice breaks as he pulls you closer, hides his face in your hair. And the words echo in your head as something wet falls on your shoulder. You’re just two heartbroken souls, leaning on each other for comfort. You will yourself not to cry, but the broken sobs of your saviour rips you apart, tears you open. His lips on your shoulder burns your skin.   
  
_I wish I did, too._


End file.
